Dedicatoria De Un Libro

When I say the name Mary,
Which to me is the voice of clear water,
It's as if I peek into the fields
With a child's hand in mine.

Because her name is a distant field
With fragrant rosemary bushes
And she carries in her hands and on her face
The gentle scents of the day.

So it was love, simply,
That inscribed her name on my forehead
With five letters of melancholy.
(so it was love, simply).

And it's not my voice but love that sings
Like a loud ear of corn in my throat
When I say the name Mary.
(when I say the name Mary)